Doomed
by Taintless
Summary: With those hooded eyes on her before he left Hogwarts School forever, Hermione wondered how she’d ever live with the guilt. Will be twisty HGDm
1. Doomed

The coldness was what hurt the most. Suddenly everything that made him Draco Malfoy was gone, and all there was left was the cold, and the _pain_. It hurt so much, the mark on his forearm. It felt like ice was being grinded against his skin, ripping it away, leaving that stupid, dark design on his arm.

Every footstep seemed to create more pain. He was aware of little, except the mental and physical pain that was overtaking him, possessing his soul. All he knew was that he had to keep walking, keep moving. He couldn't be seen. He just couldn't.

But everything was gone now. He'd lost everything. Since he'd started Hogwarts, he'd dreaded the day when he would finally be converted but he'd never really thought it was going to happen. And yet, now it had and he still couldn't believe it. He was no longer than Draco Malfoy, he had lost his identity. He was nothing but a puppet now, a Death Eater.

He finally reached his quarters. At least there would be nobody here. As Head Boy, he and the Head Girl, Granger, got their own quarters. It worked to his benefit. Granger resided there very little, preferring the Gryffindor Towers, and he appreciated the isolation from his buffoons he called friends.

In the room there was a stillness. He hung on the doorway for a minute, and then dizzily the exhaustion caught up on him. He was so cold, too cold. Shivering, he felt himself fall. There was a resounding slam and he had reached his full tolerance of pain. His face crashed against the floor and his nose cracked. He howled out and his eyes watered.

"Malfoy…"

What was Granger doing here?

Suddenly, in his view, all there was, was dark eyes, framed by dark lashes. They were all he could see. It didn't matter that they belonged to Hermione Granger at all anymore, he could now see then as what they were; Beautiful.

He realised that he was in shock.

"What happened to you? Oh, Merlin." The dark eyes disappeared for a moment, but reappeared. Something cold was pressed against his nose. Small arms helped him up and awkwardly brought him in front of the fire – it was lighting; that fire was never lit.

"You're shivering," she whispered.

He couldn't feel the warmth from the roaring fire. His eyes were fixed upon it. He would never feel the warmth again. Not anymore.

Damn it, he should have made more use of his life before hand. He should have sat in front of the fire every night, and witnessed all it offered. Now he would never know – he was dead to it now.

Except Granger was rubbing his hands together with hers, and he could feel that. Was she, Granger, the epitome of warmth, an exception to the rule? Could he stay here forever, in this dazed state where her blood and status didn't matter, safe and protected by this fire and her, his sworn enemy?

His pain seemed minimal in comparison.

Her eyes were beyond beautiful. They opened a whole new dimension of thought of him – they showed him the brink of a world where things were actually beautiful, where fairy tales were real, where he could actually be happy.

And it was too late.

It was too late for Draco.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was crying. Not just tears, but bawling. Her arms were around him suddenly and she held him in an embrace he had never experienced. She held him like a mother should.

He realised she was crying too. He had heard of her over-emotional temper before and it had always amused him. Now he was glad. He was glad to be around someone with emotions – someone not afraid to show when they were sad or happy or scared. All his life, he'd lived with people with no emotions, cold, full of smirks or scowls or blankness…

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Tell me… it's okay. I'm here." She whispered such things in that hushed little voice of hers, shaky and full of unwilling comforts for him.

He couldn't tell her, but he gave the game away anyway. His eyes strayed from her eyes to the Dark Mark on his arm. She followed his trail and saw it. Her warm body froze, and brown eyes met grey eyes once more, hers full of questions and doubt, his revealing nothing.

Her arms slowly retreated. He grieved that loss, because he was coming out of his shock just as she was entering hers – they were always on opposite sides of the spectrum, weren't they?

His whole life was before him, he could see it, taste it, feel it. Coldness and loneliness and pointlessness. Murder and corruption and torture. Gaining power, and giving it to the Dark Lord. People's screams echoing in his head. Restless nights. Restless days. Fighting for a curse he wasn't sure he believed in. Forgetting everything but his duty to the Dark lord. Being a nobody, being a mindless slave used for the Dark Lord's wishes. Feeling the cold for ever, and ever, and ever. Experiencing nothing else.

Shakingly, he wiped the liquid salt from his face. His throat felt sore and he couldn't get a proper breath. He felt feverishly cold. He moved away from her – as much as he could – and let himself look at her.

Granger was so extraordinarily plain. Unspecial looking. She was pale now, and shaking. Her hair was thrown back, messily, electrified. Her skin was red and dotted. Her eyes were full and wet. Her nose was pink. She didn't have a great figure – she was not a skinny girl, at all. So why was he here – drawn to those eyes and her embrace? What was wrong with him? Was it just shock? He had never looked at Granger like that before, never been effected by her and her…charms? She was unlike all the other girls he'd been with. Pansy, Blaise, Cho Chang, Millicent, Hannah Bones, all were very pretty, willing and exciting. Granger was predictable, fat, and… warm?

When did he, Draco Malfoy, care for anything other than looks and reputation? Had the Dark Mark affected him, in some other way?

Why did he want her to wrap her arms around him again? Was he that desperate for comfort?

Why did he care that there was something like disappointment in her eyes? Why did he want to take it away?

She was overcoming her own shock now, backing away. He reached out and took hold of her wrist, stopping her. He didn't know why.

"Don't go," his voice was as husky as hers.

She looked down dumbly at his hand on her wrist then back up at his face.

"I've lost everything," he whispered. He didn't know what that had to do with her. He just didn't want her to leave him. Not now. Not yet.

"Malfoy…" She seemed to have nothing to say. She wasn't moving away.

But when he started to cry again, she held him.

That was all that mattered to him now. All he could see was her dark hair and her shiny eyes and the contours of her face, not his future, neither the one he didn't have, nor the one he didn't want.

* * *

Hermione stood outside of Dumbledore's office, with McGonagall's hand on her shoulder. They had awoken Draco and were just passing her by. McGonagall's face was harsh as he looked down on him. Snape had a hard grip on Draco and was pushing him forward. Dumbledore's face was a portrait of disappointment in him. But Draco wasn't looking at any of them, he was looking at Hermione.

Those hooded eyes burned into her. There was no warmth there at all. There was ice. _Why did you tell them? _those eyes demanded of her_. I trusted you. How could you betray me like that?_

You're a Death Eater, she thought back. I had to tell Dumbledore.

But she wasn't so sure. She had left him on the couch in front of the fire and ran to Dumbledore. She had had full faith in him. He would know what to do.

She hadn't thought that Dumbledore would sentence one of his students to Azkaban. She hadn't realised that was how he would handle things. She had thought he would have tried to help him, heal him.

But no.

She had doomed Draco Malfoy into Azkaban and, if he ever got out, he would have his revenge.

With those hooded eyes on her before Draco left Hogwarts School forever, Hermione wondered how she'd ever live with the guilt.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Guilt

_This is more a continuation of chapter 1. Thanks, and please review!_

* * *

Did she do the right thing?

It was a question that would haunt her for a very long time. Hermione stared into the fire on the couch where he had sat a mere hour ago and remembered his dark eyes. They were strange eyes too. They changed colour.

She couldn't get the picture of him out of her mind. He had looked so angry, so betrayed, so blaming. He couldn't see her logic, then. He obviously did not have the same faith in Dumbledore as she had. Which was understandable.

Sometimes, she even wondered about Dumbledore's actions. But... he'd done the right thing this time, hadn't he? Malfoy was a Death Eater. All Death Eaters were evil. One less Death Eater in the war was a good thing, right?

But Malfoy had seemed so lost... so sad. He hadn't seemed happy about being a Death Eater. Perhaps he'd been forced to by his father. But it didn't matter, did it? Once you had that Dark Mark on your arm, you had to do what the Dark Lord told you to or you were dead. Malfoy was a menace to the world, and Dumbledore had just put him away so he wouldn't be able to do any harm.

Except, what was it like there? Never to feel happiness had to be painful, had to be terrible. Even being in a Dementor's presence had given Hermione nightmares.

She sat and stared for a long time. This would be her secret. She couldn't tell her friends... they would never understand. She could just imagine their triumphant faces, their eyes glinting with ignorance, celebrating the fact that they'd never have to put up with Malfoy again.

But they hadn't seen him the way she had. She'd seen so much in that half an hour that they were together. He had cried in her arms. How could she just leave that go? How could she just move on and forget about him, while he was sentenced to being sad forever?

She could only imagine the anger he felt at her, the anger he would experience in that cell for the rest of his life. he would blame her, that was certain. This was all her fault. If he ever got out, he would be forever vengeful. He would track her down, and he would not forgive her.

Hermione shivered, and suddenly felt very cold indeed.

* * *

The memory of putting Malfoy into Azkaban was no where near her mind. She couldn't believe she was graduating. She honestly couldn't believe that, after seven years of adventure, magic and growing up, she would never learn another spell in this school again. Never again would she listen to Snape's low voice again eagerly or take notes in History of Magic or transform another innate object into a monkey. It was a strange sensation, a mixture of happiness, sadness and pure excitement.

From Ron's expression, she could see he felt the exact same way. Ron had grown up a lot, she felt. Yet, as he grinned at her childishly, she realised he hadn't lost one of his good points. For this, she was glad.

Harry was a little more sombre. He had changed the most, out of all of them and no wonder, with all he'd been through. In sixth year, a battle had taken place outside the school and Neville Longbottom had been lost. Harry had been the only one present at the time and, therefore, according to Harry's self-harming logic, Harry had been the only way capable of saving his chubby friend, and had failed. Seventh year had erupted with mini-battles taking place all over Britain. Harry had become more and more quiet and pressure had been building on him. The newspapers were constantly calling out for their "hero." But it was blatantly obvious to Hermione, that Harry was not ready. She wondered, secretly of course, whether he ever would be.

He still turned and smiled at her though. Harry would always continue to fight. He was one of the bravest people she knew. She sometimes was in awe of him. She, having never suffered any major losses in her personal life, could never really understood the pain he suffered every day, but she knew how rough it must be, and how well Harry was dealing with it. She had never seen anyone die before. She hoped she never would.

Dumbledore was making a speech now. In it, he praised many, many people. He didn't mention Harry, Hermione or Ron by name, but everyone knew it was them he was talking about for various parts. Harry looked embarrassed by this and she felt her own face going red. Ron, however, was grinning proudly.

Where did they all go from here?

Harry was entering into years of intensive training. He would have to travel away from them for three years, to Albania. Lupin, along with Tonks and Mad Eye Moody, were going with him. He was going to learn many different breaches of magic and find self-fulfilment. Harry didn't look forward to it but, ever the hero, he knew it was his duty.

Ron was going to train to become an Auror. He felt it was his duty, while Harry was gone, to try and protect as many people as possible here in Britain. Hermione sometimes thought of him as a hero in his own right. Once she'd told Ron that; his ears had been red for more than an hour afterwards.

Where was she going? She was, of course, going to stay a member of the Order of Phoenix but she didn't want to be an Auror just yet. She was entering into the Ministry, much the same way Percy had. She would have to start off at the bottom but she, being Hermione Granger, expected to climb quite highly quite quickly. For now, she would be under Mr Weasley's wing. She would do nightly Auror training, however. She wanted to be ready, and be able to be useful, when things got very rough.

Hermione shook her head, to rid herself of her thoughts. It was one of her worst habits, according to Ron, thinking so far into the future that she forgot about the present.

Dumbledore had just finished his speech. McGonagall stood up and began reading out the names. Hermione couldn't breathe in anticipation. Almost unconsciously, she gripped on to Ron's hand and, with her other hand, Harry's shoulder.

When her name was called, she detached herself from that awkward position and received her graduation slip, along with her NEWT scores. She contained herself enough to shake hands with Dumbledore and McGonagall before rushing down and ripping the posh envelop open.

She nearly fainted from relief. Every single one of them were perfect. That hadn't happened since the year... the year Tom Riddle was in school. Nobody did that well... except her!

She flung herself into Ron's open arms and shouted with glee. Ron didn't ask how she did, he didn't need to. Harry picked up the slip of paper - she had dropped it in her excitement - and gave it to her, offering her a huge smile. She only hesitated for a split second before jumping at him as well. He accepted her hug with nearly as much enthusiasm as Ron.

She only stopped jumping around when she realised that the whole place had gone quiet. She wondered why, and then thought back on the name that had just been called: Draco Malfoy.

McGonagall looked flustered and Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on her arm to calm her. The whole audience hung in a united sober front, and Hermione bowed her head. For just one, _one_ moment, she had forgotten about him, rotting away in there, when he should have been out here, receiving his outstanding results and smirking at them all, thinking he was better than them all...

McGonagall called out the next few names. When Harry's was called, the applause was ear-piercing. He smiled out at them all, but his eyes were tired. He received the piece of paper and shook all the teachers' hands before returning quietly to his friends. His smile didn't drop until he reached them. Hermione pulled him into another hug. His NEWT scores were above average, not perfect like hers, but close, considering the amount of extra study she did.

Ron's name was near the end. He got a big applause also. He almost skipped up, forgot to shake McGonagall's hand, and stumbled on his way back. He smiled and laughed the whole way along; a joker 'till the end. His NEWT scores were good. He had done a lot of work and had received enough -just barely - to become an Auror. He was ecstatic.

The celebrations carried on until morning. Hermione was uncertain herself. After all of her studying, she now seemed to have too much free time on her hands. For the last bit of her time in Hogwarts - they gave the seventh years a couple of days to prepare - she relaxed by the lake with Ron and Harry. Everything seemed so beautiful, when you knew you may never see it again.

Malfoy didn't get time to do this, she realised. He never got to say goodbye to any of his classmates, never got to appreciate the Hogwarts scenery for the last time, never got to finish his NEWTS and never got to graduate.

Questions had been asked about his where-a-bouts but the teachers were all decidedly vague and most of his friends already knew, and thought him a hero, a soldier having gone out for the cause. She'd heard Pansy whispering about it one day, and had nearly gotten sick.

Nobody would ever know about Hermione's involvement or Draco's upset at having joined the Death Eater's ranks.

But sometimes, even years later, Hermione had difficult looking at herself in the mirror.

* * *

_Remember to review! Thanks for reading! What do you think so far? Malfoy will be in the next chapter, I think._


	3. Darkness

"No!" the exclamation ripped itself from her mouth painfully. Hermione reached forwards but otherwise did not move. Everyone froze from mid-battle, to witness Harry Potter fall. Again. "Ron!" she cried. "Get Harry!"

Ron was quick, but Ginny was quicker. She literally sprang from her crouching position and caught Harry before he hit the ground. Ron was there a minute later, supporting Harry's other side. Both glared at Voldemort, determined to get their friend away alive. Not one of their expressions showed fear.

_Five years_ fighting Voldemort could do that to some people. Ginny and Ron's faces never showed fear anymore.

Lucius Malfoy's curse smashed into her. Thankfully, it was not the killing one. They'd been fighting for some time now and it would take him some more time to recharge before he could kill her that easily. However, she was temporally paralyzed and, therefore, temporally helpless.

"Miss Granger," he crouched down to look at her, smirking. "We meet again."

Sometimes Hermione's life seemed like a dance routine; she always seemed to be nearly dead or someone close to her nearly dead. Nothing was ever without hardship, and she was only twenty-three years old. Lucius Malfoy always seemed to come to her for battle, or her him. She realized that it was both their way to deal with the guilt they both shared. They blamed each other for their own part in Draco's imprisonment. She hated Lucius Malfoy with a passion and five years of nightly training had prepared her to kill him.

Lucius Malfoy wanted to kill her too. They'd both just never achieved the chance. Until now, of course.

She watched him, not wanting to die but uncertain that, even if she hadn't been paralyzed, she would have fought anyway. This personal war between them, and herself, had just gone on too long. Images flashed through her head - of her and her boys, her and Ginny, her and her Muggle family - and she realized that this death would be too easy. She wouldn't go out like this. She wouldn't let Malfoy win. She couldn't let Malfoy win.

She burst from her paralysis quicker than ever before and threw herself at Lucius. He was startled, and promptly fell to the ground, with her on top of him. His smirk didn't drop. He looked so much like his son at times. Hermione's hands were around his neck and she was strangling him. Where was her wand? She didn't care.

"Hermione!" Luna was near. Good, Hermione's was afraid of what she might do to Lucius if she'd been left to her own devices.

"Luna!" Hermione called out. "Stun him!"

Luna did as she was told. Lucius Malfoy was stunned and promptly kicked into the head by Hermione.

Once her immediate danger was out of the way, she turned back to her other friends and saw that they were in a life threatening predicament. Voldemort was advancing and neither Ron nor Ginny could raise their wands without dropping Harry's dead weight, which could prove lethal in the state that he was in. Dumbledore's words were in her mind, "_Harry's life is the most important. He is more important than me or you. He is essential; he can not be killed. We can not let that happen."_

Hermione threw herself forward. Luna didn't hesitate in following her lead. They needed to stall Voldemort. Hermione had her own reasons for wanting to save Harry; she loved him. As a friend or something more she wasn't sure... things were so confusing.

Voldemort seemed happy to see her. She was a well known Auror. Although she didn't kill many of his men or put them in jail, she was one of the most prominent healers and she often testified in court. She also was the best friend of Harry Potter and a Muggle-Born. They wanted her dead, and Voldemort seemed to be even more powerful than usual tonight.

She didn't care. "Get Harry out of here!" she yelled at the two Weasleys. Ginny hesitated slightly, Ron did not. Ron understood how things were, the sacrifices that had to be made, and Ginny was only learning. Hermione's eyes were fixed on Voldemort's. She couldn't look away. What her biggest fault was, as an Auror, was the fact that she still held fear. Fear that she couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard she tried. Most, Ron included, had hardened and their emotions were limited. She found she was quite as emotional as ever.

She was scared. Scared of Voldemort. Scared of death. Scared of never seeing her loved ones again. Scared that Harry was too hurt this time, that this time he would not wake up with messy hair and a small smile, reassuring them that he was fine, a little disappointed, a little tired, but quite alright.

Voldemort did not waste time. "Crucio," he hissed and the curse hit her accordingly. She should have been ready, of course, but she never was. It was much too painful for her to think. All she could feel was the curse echoing through her bones. This curse was created to cause the most pain it possibly could, and that it did. It was too intense and she was crying aloud. She had done training on how to deal with pain before but no pain was like this... it just wasn't worth it... she wished she were dead, rather than keep living in this dimension of anguish.

Then it was gone. She lay on the ground, weak. She was weak. She wasn't like Harry. Even at fourteen, he'd been stronger than her. Now she was going to die, and she just hoped that it wasn't in vain, just hoped that Harry was okay. She would have liked to see him again, though, one last time.

"You're just a little girl really, aren't you, _Hermione_?" Her name was mocking on his tongue. "You are only a Mudblood, no better, no worse. You have tried and tried and tried to act like a real Witch, but you can't. You haven't the power. And now you must die." Following this, was that high cold laughter that she despised so much.

"Hermione has more power than you ever will," Luna said. Luna had changed so much over these last few years. She was still odd, she probably always would be, but she had grown up. She knew the extent at which the war was important and she knew what was reality from fantasy. Her natural lack of fear and human emotion had molded her into one hell of a fighter, and a brilliant Auror. Although it never showed in those wide, innocent silver eyes, She had killed many.

"Another little girl... one who does have the pureblood, yet does not know how to use it." Voldemort deflected the curse Luna had thrown at him lazily and pointed his wand at her. "You are the worst kind of filth. You are a waste, a waste of the pure blood that many crave."

"That you crave, you mean," Luna said dreamily. "Since you are, after all, only a Half Blood."

Now Voldemort's red pitless eyes were narrowed into harsh slits. Hermione's breathing was only now returning to normal. She could feel her body again. She pushed herself up from the ground, and Voldemort's dark eyes turned to her. "Watch, Mudblood," he deflected another of Luna's curses, without even looking at her. "Watch what happens to those who insult the Dark Lord. Watch," he turned back to Luna, "and learn."

Only fifteen minutes later, did Luna's screams finally stop. Hermione knew that Luna was dead. That red heap of tatters could be nothing alive. Voldemort stepped over Hermione, leaving her crying in a pitiful heap on the ground.

Later, when Hermione could pick herself up, she realized that the Battle was over. Lucius Malfoy was gone. Nothing alive was left. The battle scene was a painting of red.

* * *

"He's okay, Hermione," Ron told her as soon as she returned to Hogwarts. "Like usual, he miraculously clings on to life. He knows his duty. He'll do it... when he's ready." It hurt her when Ron left then. A few years ago, Ron would have stayed at Harry's bed and waited until he woke up, just to make sure. Now, however, things were different between the two boys. Hermione always thought it was because Ron thought it too painful to watch the agony Harry had to go through every single day of his life. Hermione wasn't sure. All she knew was that Ron had distanced himself from Harry and herself, concentrating much more on his own training and his own duty.

Hermione tried to be there for Harry. Harry, although he was so complex and difficult sometimes, needed her. It was a shame that things weren't as simple as they had been when they were just friends though. Perhaps it was because of the lack of Ron, or because they both needed someone desperately to cling on to, but sometimes Hermione and Harry got together for not-purely-platonic activities. Hermione wasn't sure whether she liked this or not. All she knew was that sometimes she needed to be close to him, close to somebody.

Hogwarts was the only safe place now. Voldemort had taken over everywhere. The world was so dark and dreary now. A lot stayed at Hogwarts. Harry did, whenever he was in Britain. Ginny didn't have the money to buy her own place and the Weasley house held too many memories, painful now after all the deaths. Ron trained at Hogwarts a lot too. Hermione only stayed there rarely. She stayed with her parents mostly, but she was always conscious at the danger she was putting them in and knew she would have to find a better arrangement soon. Her parents desperately wanted her to stay with them. They were always so worried about her. She could do little to ease their worry.

She stayed in Hogwarts that night. She wanted to be there for Harry. Dumbledore stayed by the bed most the night too, but he and Hermione talked little. There had been conflict between them, for a very long time.

When Harry woke up, he was quieter than normal and refused silently to convince them that he was alright, the words Dumbledore and her craved even when they knew the words weren't true. Harry looked very tired and depressed. Without his reassurances, Hermione was less than satisfied. She felt empty somehow. If Harry wasn't as strong as always, what were they all going to do?

She left Harry's side, when it was clear he did not wish to talk to her.

She dragged herself up to her room. It was in the Hufflepuff tower. Funny that, but nobody cared about houses anymore. Many slept wherever they could get a room, yet nobody shared. Everyone was too tired these days to stay up and have a slumber party.

She dressed for bed. There was a balcony in her room - they had offered her one with the best view - and she stared out at the sky. It was so dark now, there was little sign of the stars. She couldn't help but relieve the painful memories of the night. Luna's death was just another scar now. She had tried to defend Hermione, and had been too successful. Hermione was still alive, and Luna was dead. Another friend dead. Hermione missed her old life, she really did. She had had loads of friends before, but now she had nobody but corpses or people that were mere living shadows of their former selves. No body laughed anymore. Nobody discussed Quidditch. Nobody gossiped. Nobody celebrated birthdays. There was nothing. Hermione didn't even realize she was crying, until her face felt so wet she had to wipe it.

She tried not to cry, she really did. But Hermione was not naturally strong, regarding her emotions, and she rarely succeeded. Crying had become a nightly ritual for her.

_When would it all end?_

She sniffed loudly, and pulled herself together. Re-entering her room, she looked around. Something felt odd. The air felt disturbed somehow. The room was darker than normal, and almost too still.

"Hello?" she offered. On any other occasion, she would have felt foolish. Now, however, she was certain. There was somebody in her room. On her bed lay her Daily Prophet. She hadn't gotten to read it yet but now the headline stood out clearly. "Another Death Eater Breaks Free" and a large picture of Draco Malfoy, seventeen years old, smirking out at her.

Hands reached out and caught her by the sides.

She didn't even have time to scream.

* * *

_Please review! I honestly write better if I know people are reading and bothering to review! Please, please, please?_


	4. Rescue Me

him, and his smirk was even more unbearable than normal.

It was Lucius Malfoy.

She knew it the minute she felt his breath in her ear. The hands that had caught her by the sides were sleek and artistic. So clean, and so covered in blood. He smelled of richness. He was so deceiving. One would think he'd been sitting, eating dinner at posh restaurants all evening, rather than out at a Battle, killing the innocent and the "impure."

"Miss Granger," he whispered, and turned her towards him. "Why were you crying? What has upset you, so?" His tone was so mocking. She was so close to him, it made her sick.

"Let me go, Malfoy!" she struggled, but to no avail. His grip on her was a grip of steal.

"Why would I do that, Miss Granger? Give me one good reason, and I shall."

She didn't have one, none that she could offer to him. He didn't care about her well fare. He didn't care that she didn't want to die. He didn't care that there was people that loved her, that would suffer at her death. He didn't care that, no matter how lost she was, she didn't think the solution was death. He didn't care that his touch made her sick. he didn't care that she hated him, as much as he hated her.

"You're just a little girl, aren't you? So impure, so filthy. So tainted. The war is in your eyes, girl. And yet..." He pressed himself closer to her, restraining her. "I want to taste you, Granger. I can, you know. I can do it, if you die afterwards. If you die afterwards, I do not have to be ashamed of lowering myself to your level."

He pushed her back on to the bed, and pressed himself on top of her.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" she screamed, but fear affected her volume. He shushed her mockingly and his hand stopped her from screaming again. She was isolated in this room now, so far from Harry or Ron or anyone that cared. How did Malfoy even get in here? How had he done it? No Death Eaters had ever been able to break the wards Dumbledore had up before.

"You sent my son off to jail, Granger," Malfoy said now, his tone suddenly nasty. "I have not forgiven you. Draco's free now, but I don't know where he is. I fear he may blame me. But he won't, Granger. Not if I punish you. Not if I make you pay. Only your pain will make my son forget his own."

He licked her neck, and one of his hands covered her mouth, while the other one roamed roughly. Tears rolled from her eyes, and she found that she was terrified. She couldn't let this happen, but how could she stop it? Maybe he was right... maybe she did deserve to be punished like this. But... not like this... please...not like this.

"I guess you're wondering how I got in here," Malfoy said now, enjoying her fear, drawing it out. "Some one let me in, Granger. Someone who knew exactly what I wanted to do with you..."

Her fear had reached peaking point all of a sudden. She started to fight again, struggling with more power and energy than she remembered having in quite some time. She wouldn't let him do this... she wasn't that sort of girl... she'd never give in...

It was useless and yet Malfoy suddenly stopped. She thought for a minute that he was leaving her go, but then his whole body froze and he fell on top her, no longer able to support himself. Why couldn't he? Because he was dead.

Without him restraining her, she kicked him off her. He was little more than a heavy stiff board. Dead as a door knob. With her new found freedom of movement, she pushed herself up on the bed and looked gratefully at her savoir.

It was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Draco looked upon her. This girl... this stupid, innocent, small girl... had forced him to live in this hell for the last five years. He was angry, angry because he wasn't sure why he wasn't angry _at_ her. Her eyes were wild, brown and full of water. So unlike everyone else's. Everyone he had seen, everyone he had watched all day, were cold and emotionless. The war had changed everyone. There was no laughter. There was no sadness. There was no...anything. All there was were shadows, and people fighting for things they didn't even believe in any more. People fighting for things they couldn't even remember anymore.

But Granger, _Hermione_, had emotion in her eyes. He hadn't seen emotion in so long. Five years, actually. But here she was...crying...

He didn't want to kill her. Not yet.

He walked towards the bed. She backed away, as far as she could. Oh, so she felt fear too. He inhaled deeply.

She was _sensational_.

He had nothing now. There was nothing for him left now. He had just killed his father. His mother was in St. Mungo's, after being driven crazy. She was as good as dead. She store blankly at walls all day.

He had nothing now... but Granger.

He would make her pay, for taking everything from him. He still remembered coming to her for comfort, not the hell she gave him. He would have preferred to stay with Voldemort, at least he would have been able to hang on to something resembling happiness. Now, he would never experience happiness again, and it was all her fault. He had blamed his father too, but now he was dead. So, it was all on Granger now. She owed him and he would force her to pay up.

He reached out and took her face into his hand, making her look at him properly. He drank her in. She had changed so much...

"Hello, Hermione..." He said this quietly, testing out her first name for the first time. His voice was cracked, from lack of use.

He had imagined meeting her like this for so long now. It had been what all his unhappiness had focused on. It had let him keep some of his sanity. A little bit of his sanity. He had half a mind to crack her neck now, but then he really would be empty.

She was _so _small. Had she always looked this young? She had always been rather curvy, he'd always thought. Now she was skinny, scrawny one might say. Malnourished and tired. She was suffering... it made him tingle.

"Malfoy," she breathed, her eyes still on his. "How...?"

How _what_? She never finished her question and he never would have answered it anyway. He owed her nothing.

"Why...?" A better question, but still one he had no desire to answer.

That emotion she felt... he wanted it.

He shook her head, examining her. He turned her head to the left and to the right. She let him, eyes still on his, staring, in shock. Her chin seemed more pointed. Her hair was no longer wild. It was somewhere between curly and straight, not nice, but not as noticeable. She was pale. Her eyes seemed much more prominent, because of her sunken cheeks and thin lips. She could never be called pretty, even now.

He was confused.

He threw her away from him suddenly, with the hand that had been on her face. It hurt her - he saw the flinch of pain in her face – and he turned from her. He didn't want to look at her anymore. He realised that he should have left his father torture and kill her. She deserved it. Why was he here, looking at her? After five years of imprisonment, didn't he have something better to do?

He caught sight of his reflection in her mirror, while trying to avoid her gaze. It horrified him... he hadn't seen the damage that place, Azkaban, had done. Naturally good looking, now he was nothing more than an insignificant looking manic. He could do nothing, but start laughing. He kept laughing, not looking at her or himself.

"What did Azkaban do to you, Malfoy?" she whispered softly.

He wouldn't have given her an answer even if he had, had one. But he didn't. The question rang in his head, until it was too loud. She said something else, but he couldn't hear it. He realised then that he was in danger here, that she was potentially harmful to him, and that he must go. He turned, walked to her balcony, jumped off of it, landed like a cat, perfect and unharmed, and disappeared into the night.

Hermione watched him go, completely and utterly bewildered. She might have cried, if she had anything left in her. She stayed on her bed for a long time, feeling more lost than ever.

On the floor beside her, Lucius Malfoy lay dead.

* * *

_I felt mean, having left this story on a cliffie. So I said I'd update quickly! How did you like it? Bet you didn;t think it was Lucius, eh? She was... kind of ...lucky Draco was there, but he might turn out worse! _

_Anyway, it'll be a bit longer before I update again because, well, I have just realised my exams are barely a week away, and I so did not know that! So I have to cram and stuff!_

_Please review to cheer me up! Any one up to anything interesting for the summer?_

_I have a couple of plans, alright. Hopefully it'll be good! I can't believe it's come so soon!_


	5. Close

The first thing Harry woke to was a bruised pair of brown eyes, staring down at him in worry and despair. The emotion quickly vanished form Hermione's eyes once she realised he was awake, but he'd seen it. He knew it was always there anyway. Hermione was one of the only few who still believed in him. Sometimes he hated her for it – the belief. He hated disappointing her, forcing her to continue his struggle because of his own inadequacy.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

No. Never okay. It was a stupid fruitless question. He would never be okay, until Voldemort was finally dead and he, Harry Potter, would be able to find some peace.

He didn't reply, asking, "What happened?"

She swallowed, and he knew it was bad. More pain. More suffering. An endless dark abyss. Harry just didn't understand all this anymore. Hermione filled him in on Luna's death and, a although she left out most of the gory detail, it was reflected in her eyes. Luna Lovegood was dead, and Harry hadn't been able to save her. Another death, more blood on his hands. Luna's blood. Luna was dead now, and he would never see her ever again.

"I'm sorry," he told Hermione. He sat up, with effort, and brushed a hand against her smooth face. She closed her eyes on the upcoming tears, in another worthless attempt at hiding her emotions from him. "I'm sorry you had to see Luna's death. I'm sorry you have to continue fighting when I know how much you hate it. I'm sorry I couldn't kill Voldemort for you."

"It's not your fault, Harry," she began weakly, but he stopped her. They'd been through this a million times already, and nothing either of them could say would make things better.

He titled her head towards him and gently kissed away the salty tears from her closed lids. She sighed for the closeness that she craved and lowered herself gently on top of him, melting into him as his arms surrounded her. She titled her head to kiss his pale neck, and he moaned with appreciation.

This could be their only relief. When they were just together, alone. Later there would be complexes and questions – neither was sure what kind of relationship they had or what sort of feelings they held for each other. But for now, they were together, and together they could find a little comfort.

He slipped off her small cardigan and held her close so she would not be cold. She pushed off his pyjamas shirt, and ran delicate hands over his smooth chest. The moon shone down on them both as they moved together, almost dancing together, sharing that secret smile they always shared. For those few moments, they were no longer alone and in despair. For those few moments, they were intimate, close, warm. Nobody could hear their soft sighs and moans – it was like they were in their own little world, a soft cocoon void of doubts and torment and hate.

* * *

They stood in the Great Hall, all of them – the fighters, the survivors. Training. Harry was the only one not present. He'd left with Dumbledore early this morning, for India the rumours said but they were only rumours. Nobody really knew where Harry was or what he was doing there. A blanket of gloom hung around the hall, and many wondered whether they'd ever see their "savoir" again.

He hadn't told Hermione he was leaving, and he hadn't said goodbye.

"So you're going back to your parents' house, then?" Ginny asked, her eyes on Hermione and not on her book like they were supposed to be.

Hermione shook her head to gather herself from her thoughts and then replied, "Yes. I was attacked here last night. Hogwarts is supposed to be safe. I just don't feel comfortable here anymore."

"Especially with Harry gone," Ron said with a bite in his voice.

"Maybe if some of my friends weren't so distant the whole time, Ron –" she began hotly.

"Hermione…" Something in his voice, in his face, stopped her rant. There was a flicker of emotion in Ron's blue eyes, emotion, something she hadn't seen in so long. "I don't want to fight," he told her. "I'm sorry."

Ron didn't have the strength to fight anymore. He didn't have the strength for anything anymore. He was drained, drained of any of the spark she'd once known and loved. Ron was so far from the boy she'd once been in love with.

He was barely a friend anymore.

"How did the Malfoys get in anyway?" Ginny interrupted, causing Hermione to tear her eyes away from Ron's.

"I don't know. Dumbledore has a theory but…the Dark side are getting stronger, and we all just have to accept that Hogwarts isn't safe anymore. There's nowhere left for us to hide. Once they feel they have enough power, they'll attack Hogwarts. And Hogwarts will fall."

They both nodded soberly. But Ron and Ginny wouldn't leave. They had nowhere left to go.

The Weasley household had long been destroyed. The only other member of the family still alive was George, and he seemed unable to cope without his twin. George had left Britain a long time ago and nobody had seen him since.

She looked back to her book. These books had once been in the restricted section but now were open to everyone. She was trying to learn wandless magic but she could only manage the very basic spells. Her mind couldn't focus very well on such things anymore.

The sight of Draco had disturbed her more than she was happy to admit. She couldn't dwell on it much, she didn't want to dwell on it, but something about him brought back that old swirling guilt that had haunted her through her late teens. She tried to concentrate on her book again but her vision had gone blurrily. Angrily she wiped at her eyes with the bank of her hands and said, "Everything's so fucked up."

If either Ron or Ginny were surprised at the use of such language, they didn't show it, but their serene nods showed her that they agreed. Everything was so fucked up. Everything.

* * *

_Right, so, this story is back up and running. I doubt this will be too long though. Small changes - the rating is now M, and it will be a bit more grown up. Happy to be back in the Harry Potter writing world, although my exams (big BIG exams) are in june so I won't be properly back until mid June. Still. Hope somebody's still reading this, and a review would be very encouraging indeed. _


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